


Is This How I Die?

by musicaltrash_24601



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Original Work
Genre: Based off the song "Dust and Ashes", F/F, Gay, Short Story, my oc is hella bitter until the end, very gay actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicaltrash_24601/pseuds/musicaltrash_24601
Summary: Her parents had an obituary put in the local paper: Thea Rose Howell, aged 26, died of major damage to her bones, torso, and head after a fall in a competition that would have sent her to the Olympics. We are so proud of you, honey. We can only hope that you know you were loved. To us, you will always be that little girl that got so excited to watch the Olympics. We love you.





	Is This How I Die?

**Author's Note:**

> BIG OL UPDATE!!!  
> I'm taking out the lyrics due to copyright issues, but try listening to the song while reading!
> 
> This is an original work, just a little something to tide you over while I get the next chapter of He Loves Me ready. Based off of Dust and Ashes from Dave Malloy's musical, The Great Comet, it's about an original character. I recommend listening to the song it's based off of, it invokes a lot of emotions and Josh Groban is a fantastic singer.
> 
> Also: The main character's lover is taken away by a man because her parents didn't approve of the main character.

The music starts. She takes in a breath, readying herself.

 

Her arms move almost delicately, concealing the strength hidden within.

 

Her custom-made white skates swished across the ice, jumping off to perform elaborate jumps and twirls.

 

She turns sharply, looking out to the audience. This is her moment.

 

Her skates skim over the ice, showing off her powerful gracefulness, her blinding beauty. She's going to win. She can do this jump. She's been practicing for it. No matter if she's never done it successfully. She can do this. Make the world proud. She flies up into the air, reaching for the sky, only to come crashing back down with a dull thud. Her body skids across the ice, limp and motionless. She is barely breathing, struggling to stay awake.

 

Her life flashes before her eyes: people smiling, a few partners here and there, a few lovers. The people who really stand out are her mother and father. They had been loving her, supporting her.

 

Her parents, who loved her unconditionally, only to be turned down, time and again for her skating. That's what was important to her. Not family. She had to focus on her skating to be the best she could, and if that meant cutting off everyone, so be it.

 

The wall is getting closer, but now it's going slower, almost in slow motion. She's sure she's still moving towards it as fast as she fell.

 

She watches, almost uncomprehending, as her childhood self cries after her first fall on the ice. She had fallen on her backside, barely injured, but it felt like she had fallen from the top of the Empire State building.

 

Her parents, after her first competition, had brought her flowers. She hadn't won, but they acted like she did anyway. She hated it.

 

She always pretended not to see the sad looks in her friends and parents eyes everytime she turned down an opportunity to hang out or watch a movie.

 

She grew stronger, learned to do more advanced jumps and twirls, advancing quickly in the ranks. Everytime she lost, she plastered on a smile and shook the winner's hand, murmuring a quiet congratulations.

 

She gazes on as after every competition she lost, her practice time at the rink doubled. She would not be beat. She would grow and become one of the best- no. She would be the best.

 

Her friends were slowly moving away. She had become both the sun and moon, fiery and passionate about skating, but cold and uncaring towards her friends. A friend had suggested that their group go stargazing one night, just days before a competition. She snapped that she had better things to do, storming away. She didn't have friends after that, so she buried herself in skating.

 

Her life continues, the wall inching towards her ominously. She pays it no mind. Her past self counties living, while she is sure she is going closer to death.

 

She has never been truly in love. Only lovers here and there. They always left because she dedicated more time to her sport than to them.

 

Her coach was constantly trying to get her to live a little, to no avail. He always said, jokingly, that she would skate herself to death. Here she was now, waiting to crash into something after a bad fall. She had reached for the stars, coming only to fall in the dust.

 

One person had come along. She came from France. As the two competed, they soon discovered that they had fallen in love. Glares from across the podium had turned into loving gazes. But she was stolen away, carried off by a man.

 

The French skater had been her only love. Her only true love. She would be blind to how the world looked like if one was in love, how colorful and joyous it was. She would only see the gray, uncaring world that had taken from it one of the only two joys she had in life.

 

She remembered from an early age watching the skaters on television. They glided across the ice, making their jumps and turns seem effortless. As she grew older, she still thought highly of them, especially when she met them.

 

She paled in comparison to some skaters, and she worked to beat them. But what was she really trying to do? Who was she trying to impress?

 

Every night, she heard whispers in her head: “You'll never be good enough. You're worthless.” And everytime, she blamed something new. Her new skating partner, her new lover. Someone or something always got in the way of her. She pushed herself to the limits, but something always made her pull back just before she got there. “You could be great. Known across the land.” And the cycle began anew.

 

As she was watching, it slowly dawned upon her that she had tears running down her face. She had never known that she was so horrible. She vowed to change, if she made it through this.

 

Her body ran into the wall with a sickening crunch. White hot pain, then… nothing. She was trapped, very much alive, but she couldn't move. Is this what dying felt like?

 

Her parents always had loved how she looked in burgundy. So had her French lover. People said it was her color. That would be nice, being buried in such a beautiful color.

 

No more love. She was carted off to a hospital in a cold, bright white ambulance. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. She was so scared, so alone. Where was her mother? Her father?

 

Her chest was rising and falling weakly, and as she struggled to live, her parents struggled not to cry. Even now, the music to her program kept playing in her head. Instinct from years of practice made her want to get up and go back to the ice. Her body was weakening and was at war with itself.

 

Regret, love, anger, sadness all churned inside of her. Why didn't she care more?

 

In her mind's eye, she could see the rink. It was covered with skate marks, and she reached out for it, only to have it yanked away. The memories started flashing, all of them threatening to overwhelm her.

 

Her body, laid out on a stretcher, rattled as she breathed. Every time she had stepped on the ice, she felt powerful. Invincible. Immortal, even. Now, she had been reduced to nothing. But she felt at peace with the world. The memories began slowing down.

 

The EMTs rushed her into the emergency room, nurses whisking her away to the ICU, where she'd be transferred to the operating room.

 

She could feel her soul slipping away. Her determination to not die held the last fragments as close as she could, grabbing for more that were fading.

 

Everyone who loved her would never hear her say it back to them. Her friends, lovers, parents, partners, and her French girl. She would still be ignorant to the beauty of love.

 

She tried her best. The doctors were working as best they could on her damaged body, trying to repair her ribs and lungs.

 

For the first time in her life, she was praying. She was growing closer to something, heaven or hell. She couldn't tell.

 

The doctors were painfully slow. They were doing as much as they could, but they didn't think they could save her.

 

She reached out, towards a welcoming hand. A genuine smile was on her face for the first time in a long time.

_I'm ready…_

Elodie was there. She smiled. Tears streamed down her face. She cried out in joy, running into the arms of her love. The heart monitor gave one steady beep, causing the doctors’ hearts to drop. They had lost her.

_To wake up._

Her parents had an obituary put in the local paper: Thea Rose Howell, aged 26, died of major damage to her bones, torso, and head after a fall in a competition that would have sent her to the Olympics. We are so proud of you, honey. We can only hope that you know you were loved. To us, you will always be that little girl that got so excited to watch the Olympics. We love you.

**Author's Note:**

> Ouch. :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!


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